


Sleeping Arrangements

by tlbattle



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-14 16:36:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11787132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tlbattle/pseuds/tlbattle
Summary: The Inquisitor can't quite sleep in her new Skyhold chambers.





	1. Night

 Contrary to fortress gossip, this all didn’t start back in Haven.

Surrounded by the hustle of the Inquisition, the dedicated who bolstered the movement and the soldiers that propelled it forward, Oji slept peacefully in Haven. Perhaps not truly at ease, as her sheets were still soaked with anxious sweat in the morning, but she didn’t dream and her slumber was restful. She woke every day with a renewed sense of purpose, at the center of the busy camp - the Inquisitor ready to lead her people.

There was always work to be done, refugees to help, warriors to heal, decisions to be made. Oji poured her existence into the day, doing her best, _trying_ her best, until finally exhausted, she could excuse herself to sleep.

And every night, she would retire to her small tent and smaller bedroll, crawl deep into the soft fur pelts, and listen.

The soft clinking of armor and weapons comforted her, reminding her of the bandit clan she abandoned so long ago; gruff laughs so quiet they might as well have been imagined; conversations in hushed whispers, the underlying raw vulnerability of each voice involved. A game of cards was always nearby, Cassandra’s distinctive accent floating through the air while Varric’s own low voice denied any cheating.

Some nights, Oji missed her bandit days, sneaking through nobles’ homes and stealing anything that wasn’t nailed down. Other nights, she counted herself among the blessed who could escape the harsh life.

Haven, with its ramshackle housing and hastily built walls, was not a city by any means. But it was familiar, and cozy, and full of lives that Oji would give hers to protect.

And so Skyhold, by comparison, was horrible.

It’s big, she’ll give Solas that - there’s more room for their soldiers; more permanent housing for their mages and villagers; more _everything_. There’s an actual kitchen to feed the people who trickle in daily, and a massive forge for their armaments. There’s enough space for everyone to lay a bedroll comfortably. They even cleaned up the throne room so Josephine can make Oji play politician when they need.

It’s so large that Oji was lost for three hours when they moved in because she took a wrong turn down a battlement staircase.

All of this had been wonderful at first. Finally, a stronghold that could withstand Corypheus’ army, a central place where the Inquisition could stand as a true force in Thedas. A headquarters Oji could call her home, with companions she trusted, followers she loved.

There was warm food for their bellies, soft pillows for their heads, and finally, _finally_ , everyone could breathe.

If only Oji could sleep.

. . . 

There wasn’t anything wrong with her room, per se.

The bed was incredibly comfortable, with her familiar fur pelts and a few fluffy pillows Solas gave her from his own room since he “didn’t quite enjoy the feathers.” The books she had picked up along her travels stood neatly stacked in the bookshelf, and the lute she had been trying to learn how to play leaned against the nearby desk. The balconies overlooked the entire Frostback mountain range and she could see far into the distance beyond that if she squinted. Andraste, they even included a pantry loft with some barrels of her favorite cheap ale in case she ever needed a drink.

And yet, it wasn’t truly hers.

The first night in the fortress, Oji tore off her armor and weapons, exhausted from another journey wandering the Hinterlands with the talkative Varric and the not-so-talkative Cassandra. Her bones ached, her muscles were sore, and her mind a complete mess. Sleep was right there, waiting for her to collapse, and Andraste knew she needed the rest.

Settling into bed, she sighed further into the pillows.

Seconds passed. Then minutes. Then, an hour. _Then, two more._

She couldn’t fall into that familiar, dreamless slumber.

Tossing and turning, fully awake, Oji grew frustrated with her own body.

“Just go the fuck to sleep,” she muttered to herself, annoyed and wholly empty. It wasn’t until the pale morning light poured through her large windows, and the steady clink of armor from the marching patrols reached her, that she finally shut her eyes with purpose. Commander Cullen’s voice ordering a change of drill was as beautiful as a nightingale’s at that point.

Then, twenty minutes later, as with every morning, Josephine and Leliana came to wake her.

“Ten more minutes,” Oji snarled at the pair, bloodshot eyes darting from one to the other.

Leliana shared a glance with her friend before both hurried from the room.

. . .

And so it went for weeks.

“You don’t look so well, Inquisitor,” Scout Harding said suddenly on Day Nineteen of Oji’s Eternal Sleep Deprivation. Concern coated the dwarf’s voice. “Are you. . . alright?”

Oji blinked a few times, Scout Harding’s face coming back into focus. Her bleary eyes were so damn dry, it was a wonder her lids weren’t made of sandpaper. They definitely felt like they were.

“Hmm? Oh. Yes,” she managed. “I. . . I’ve been having some difficulty sleeping.”

_Not exactly a lie._

Scout Harding nodded briskly, her eyes serious. “If it’s any consolation, I’m sure the soldiers would be comforted knowing their leader also loses sleep over this Coryphy-ass.”

Oji barked a laugh at that, weary and drained, but her heart full. Their soldiers, _her_ soldiers, were fiercely loyal and hardened (and apparently humorous). Anything to bolster their resolve for the looming war was needed. Especially if they knew their Inquisitor was plagued with the same worried thoughts.

Oji looked over to the soldiers’ camp now, Commander Cullen shouting orders towards them. A force of nature, that man. A bit of a pretty boy prat, but a loyal, hurricane of a pretty boy prat.

“Make sure _they’re_ getting enough sleep,” she said then to Harding. She turned, facing the scout. “I’m sure Leliana could sedate me if needed.”

The dwarf smirked at the comment, but said no more. Oji bowed her head, climbing the stairs slowly into the keep.

She dreaded her quarters now, the bed no longer comfortable and the pelts no longer soft against her skin. Oji sighed, unhooking the twin daggers from her shoulders and setting them down on the drawing desk.

Another night, another _sleepless_ night.

Oji sighed again. “Andraste, save me.”

. . .

Commander Cullen had Oji’s utmost respect.

A fine leader, former Templar, ex-lyrium addict, current commander of the Inquisition forces: facts about the man are honorable in themselves. It also helps the Cause that he’s personable, good-humored, and (as Oji has heard numerous times from various kitchen staff) “one of the more attractive ones, with less scars and more hair.”

Honestly, he isn’t even _that_ attractive, but it’s he who notices the Inquisitor nodding off during one of their council meetings.

Oji struggled hard to stay awake, one hand propping up her head and the other over one of the Exalted Plains scouting reports. But the warm, stuffy air of the war room and Josephine’s lilting voice did nothing to help Oji’s losing fight against sleep.

“We’ll need to send another convoy to show our good faith in Val Royeaux,” Josephine continued. “It is imperative we have the favor of - “

“I think that’s enough for today,” Cullen interrupted, standing from his own seat.

Josephine leveled him with equal measure of surprise and disdain. “If you have other pressing matters to attend to, Commander, I implore you to do them. Inquisitor - “

“Cullen’s right,” Cassandra’s authoritative voice rang out. She stood as well, stretching. “It is of no use to be cooped inside this room for hours, unproductive. We will continue tomorrow, Josephine.”

The ambassador huffed, but nodded her concession. “Very well. Perhaps by then we will have more information from Leliana’s agents.“

“Thank you, Josephine. Tomorrow you’ll have all of our undivided attention.”

Oji had been pulled back to the waking world by Cassandra’s bark. She moved to stand, watching as the others left one by one.

“Cullen, you’re free to leave as well,” she said then, looking back at the Commander. He had lingered just as she, standing with his arms crossed and a disapproving look etched onto his face. If he had feathers, they would be ruffled.

“How long have you not been sleeping well?” he asked, point-blank and clipped.

Oji stared at him, bloodshot eyes unblinking.

“Excuse me?”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh come now, Inquisitor - “

“Oji.”

“ _Oji_ ,” he stressed. “Look at the state of you!”

“Hey - “ she started. Was that worry in his voice?

He gestured up and down, making Oji look at herself.

“You’re disheveled. You were _just_ falling asleep. You have bags under your eyes big enough to stuff a Battle Nug in them - “

Oji held a hand up, stopping the onslaught. “ _By Andraste_ , I get it, Commander,” she said, exasperated. She picked at her fingers, unsure of how much to tell him. Commander Cullen was indeed a trusted advisor to her, one of the most loyal and fiercest men she’s had the pleasure of working with, but they certainly weren’t _friends_.

Were they?

There was always a level of professionalism between the two, an air of detachment. At least there _was_ until he went and called her out, breaking the invisible wall between cohorts and companions.

He certainly hadn’t forgiven her for spreading the nickname ‘Hurricane Pretty Boy’ around the battlements, either.

He was waiting now, arms crossed once more, foot tapping incessantly like a disappointed and worried mother hen.

“Alright, so I haven’t been sleeping well,” Oji admitted with a huff, throwing her hands into the air.

“Oh, Maker, preserve me,” Cullen muttered, rubbing his forehead with a gloved hand. “You haven’t been sleeping _at all!_ Not everyone gets a great night’s sleep, Inquisitor, even I can’t stand most of my nights with all the blasted _noise_ \- hey!”

“Concern yourself with something of value, Curls,” Oji said over her shoulder, walking towards the exit. “And I better have a copy of it on my desk tomorrow!”

. . .

She didn’t get a copy of Cullen’s report on her desk, but Oji _did_ take her own advice and concerned herself with something of value.

It was a cold night, made colder by the frigid winds that ran up and down the fortress walls.

Oji stood in her full black furs, gazing over a sleepy Skyhold. The fires were low tonight, but she could make out a few wandering soldiers moving from camp to camp, a towering figure among them. Bull was making the rounds tonight, most likely trying to prod the men and women together into a riotous tavern mob.

But Oji was on a mission tonight, and unfortunately it did not involve shouting drinking songs at the top of her lungs.

She moved quietly and expertly, maneuvering through Skyhold to her destination. Weaving in and out of the shadows, she smirked; Leilana would have _loved_ her in another life.

A quick sprint up another staircase, another patrol dodged, and then there she was, creeping into the window of Commander Cullen’s quarters. She paused, waiting for the distinct quiet rumble of a sleeping man’s breath. But all she could hear was the noise of the encampment below, a few detached voices, the clink of armor. She relaxed, surrounded by the low cacophony.

Curls wasn’t here, but the chance of him returning early from his mission - albeit slim - was still possible. She had sent him parading around the Exalted Plains, handing out rations to refugees and displaced soldiers alike. Another public relations stunt prompted by Josephine that was actually working: a few more dignitaries had donated to the refugee cause, their own positions bolstered by supporting the Inquisition.

But more importantly, it meant that Commander Cullen had left his chambers vacant. Tentatively, Oji stepped towards the bed, noticing the stark furnishings. A plain sheet covered with a plain blanket, no furs in sight. The door was bolted and she felt a small rush of adrenaline as she slipped into his bed.

It wasn’t the coziest, but she could still hear the noise of the Inquisition forces below her, murmured chatting and barks of laughter here and there. The clink of swords and shields. Her people.

She was asleep in moments.


	2. Day

And so it went for weeks.

The Commander was sent off on a mission every two or three days and Oji occupied his vacant bedchamber, slumbering lazily for the first time in a long time.

She was careful to wipe her drool off of the pillows, but otherwise she barely messed the sheets. She only came at night and left in the early morning, but it was enough.

It was amazing: the sandpaper of her eyelids was returning to normal flesh; the bags underneath her eyes were fading; she was sparring once more with Cassandra and the Iron Bull, having actual energy for their matches now.

She stood there in the midst of one such sparring match, twin blades defensively posed in front of her. It had just been between Cassandra and Oji at first, the two women circling each other momentarily before one of them would step forward and challenge the other; clashes of daggers against sword rung throughout the courtyard in the dimming sunlight.

But then there was the ever silent Bull, moving his hulking body effortlessly and swinging his hammer with efficient movement. Oji barely had time to jump out of the way before the two-handed weapon decimated the stone floor she had been standing on just a moment before.

“Good to see you up and about, boss,” the Qunari stated, pulling his hammer from the ground. A few pieces of granite sprinkled from his weapon.

She was about to retort something witty, but Bull and Cassandra came at her at the same time then, opposite sides closing in on Oji. Cassandra’s sword glinted in the dying light, the setting sun casting an oblong ray of orange onto the woman’s grimacing face. Bull’s movements were nimble and precise; she almost didn’t see his hammer inches from her face.

Oji flattened herself to the ground instantly, dropping so quickly the other two had no chance to react and change their direction. They collided in a mess of sword and hammer, human and Qunari, curses and more curses. Oji scuttled from underneath them, kicking up and panting with adrenaline.

“Another go around?” Bull asked, clamoring from the ground and helping Cassandra to her feet.

“Probably not,” Oji said, rubbing her aching shoulder. She had hit it hard on impact when she dodged the two. “Might need to have Leliana give me some healing salves for that last one.”

Cassandra’s smirk was almost a grin. “Perhaps a good night’s sleep as well,” she said. Oji could have sworn there was something in Cassandra’s eye, a glint maybe or a lilt in her tone - but it was gone in a flash, and of course, she might have just imagined it.

“Shut eye _would_ be pretty nice,” Oji agreed, sheathing her daggers. The trio chatted a few more minutes, moseying back to the battlements and trading techniques. Bull thought Oji was fast, but silly in her movements; Cassandra suggested perhaps more strength training.

But then the three parted ways eventually, Cassandra heading to Josie’s quarters for a wartime update while Bull beelined for the tavern and his favorite stool. And Oji, who very much decided shut eye was pretty nice, moved quietly through the battlements to her new favorite place in Skyhold.

Humming quietly to herself, Oji passed only a few scouts and soldiers on the way to the Commander’s office. Everyone was on their way to dinner, most likely, and then a few rounds of Wicked Grace that Varric was no doubt attempting to organize.

Oji turned the last corner to the Commander’s quarters and double checked to make sure no other soul was in sight. The sun had disappeared quickly, sinking below the Frostback peaks as if it too could not wait to sleep, and the Inquisitor was bathed in darkness.

She inhaled the cold air deeply, both excited and relieved at her beautifully laid plan. Honestly, this was the closest she would come to flexing her Inquisitor power - sending Commander Cullen on secret missions, just to snore on his cozy bed. She snickered at the sheer brilliance of it all, opening the door to his quarters and stepping inside.

_“Ahh!!”_

_“AHH!!”_

Oji was unsure who yelled first or louder, but what she _was_ sure of is that there was a decidedly half-nude Cullen standing in his bedchamber, wiggling out of his trousers, when he should have been halfway across Thedas. He couldn’t have blushed harder, the upper half of his body turning red - his face darkening a few shades from sheer shock and embarrassment.

Oji felt her own cheeks grow hot, her own blush crawling up her neck. They stood for a moment, staring at one another in wide-eyed surprise before Oji snapped out of it.

 _“Oh no -_ “ she sputtered, slapping her palm against her eyes to block the sight of Cullen’s bare chest and feeling backwards for the door.

Cullen must have tripped on his trousers and fallen because there was a loud _thud_ as something heavy hit the floor, then a string of curses that escaped his mouth.

“Oji! What are you _doing?!_ ”

“I’m _sorry!_ ”

“Get _OUT!_ ”

“I’m _TRYING!_ ”

Oji finally found the handle of the door - _thank Andraste_ \- and tumbled backwards outside, yelping with surprise as she hit the ground for the second time that day. She peeked through her fingers to see an incredibly red-faced Cullen, chest down on the floor of his office. They made eye contact one more time before he slid out of view, shutting the door with one of his hands in an expert combat roll.

The Inquisitor picked herself up and didn’t stop running until she was soaked in sweat, standing safe and alone in her silent quarters at the top of Skyhold.

. . .

War meetings were insufferable.

Granted, gatherings at the war table were always fraught with serious tones and tense looks, but these last few had been utterly _painful_.

Oji sat in the stuffy room with her advisors, gazing at everything except a certain golden-haired blur in the right corner of her eye. The map in front of her was scattered with wooden pieces, used to signify the cities and their settlements. She’d make sure to send Cullen away for more than a week this time, and to be much _much_ more careful.

She could see him just out of sight, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. A flash of his half-naked body snaked in her head and she she shook her head to clear the startling image. She shivered despite the heat in the room.

“I think that’s all for today,” Oji said after Leliana’s latest update from her spy network. She stood from the table and shuffled the reports in her hand, waiting for everyone to exit the chamber and leave her alone with her thoughts. Maybe she could hole up in the war room, it _was_ warm enough -

“Erm . . . Inquisitor?”

Oji jumped at the voice, nearly dropping the loose reports in her hands. The Commander stood there before the closed door, apparently waiting for everyone else to exit as well. A blush uncontrollably wound its way up from her neck as Oji cleared her throat. “Yes, Commander?” she said with her best Inquisitor voice - professional, hopefully.

He rubbed the back of his own reddened neck. “I was - well - meaning to ask you - um - “

“What is it, Cullen?” she said now. _Andraste! Spit it out, Cullen, so we both can leave._

He took a breath, his golden eyes steely.

“What were you doing walking into my office last week? I hadn’t even reported back to you yet for you to know I was there.”

 _Shit_.

Oji could have done one of two things here.

Option one: tell a lie. Say it was a shortcut she usually took to get from place to place, nothing to do with the Commander at all. She had forgotten something in there once and wanted to see if it was still in there, and it just so happened Cullen returned early. She had been drunk off of one of Bull’s concoctions from the tavern and thought it was her room. Just _lie_.

Option two: tell the truth.

She hesitated and Cullen leveled his stare hard at her, a slightly pink flush growing on his cheeks. Oji gulped.

Damn her moral compass.

Closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose, she muttered, “I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately.”

There was a long pause, then Cullen’s voice floated out to her. “. . . I don’t . . . follow.”

 _“I sleep in your bed when you’re gone because it’s the only place I can actually sleep,”_ she said all at once, exasperated. She was afraid to open her eyes, but she peeked them open to see Cullen staring at her with surprise.

It was his turn to clear his throat. Oji waited for him to say something, to offer a sputtering response to her very unusual explanation or agree that this exchange never happened. But he didn’t; he abruptly turned and left, shutting the door quickly behind him.

“Ah, shit,” Oji muttered.

. . .

Oji tossed in the furs covering her bed, finally settling on her back and staring at the high stone ceiling above her.

With a huff, she sat up and kicked the rest of the furs off her legs and stepped onto her chilly floor. It was cold in her room, but not unwelcome; she had become hot rolling around in her bed attempting to sleep. Walking over to her balcony, she breathed in the crisp mountain air and leaned on the railing.

She knew the camp was noisy, but she couldn’t hear anything over the wind. Oji yawned and her eyes grew weary, but crawling back into her bed was not an option. She slumped against the railing, exhausted and defeated.

The commander had barely said a word to her after their last interaction three days ago, avoided her at any and all communal spaces, and just that morning he had abruptly left the table when she sat down for a mid-morning meal.

Oji rubbed her temples and took another long breath. Their initiative and miliary could not survive if her commander couldn’t even be in the same room as the Inquisitor. “Andraste, save me,” she said, standing straight and heading back indoors. Grabbing a fur from her bed and tossing it over her shoulders, she stepped down the staircase and headed to Cullen’s office before she could change her mind.

She wasn’t sure if the commander was going to be up at this hour, but it was too late - she was briskly walking through the throne room and then out onto the grounds. It was well past midnight and only a few were milling about, campfires low and the sounds of sharpening blades hovered over snores. Oji’s heart ached with the need to be near the living and breathing people of her Inquisition.

Pulling the fur tighter around her shoulders, she made for the battlements. The moons weren’t out tonight and Oji was thankful for the cover of darkness. The Inquisitor being seen having late night visits with the so-called _attractive_ commander might inspire some rumors that she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the next morning on the training grounds.

She slid up to the door and with one last glance around, gave the wood a few light knocks. If Cullen was asleep, he probably wouldn’t have heard them -

The door opened and the surprised commander stood inside, backlit by a single candle still burning at his desk. He was armorless, dressed in  a threadbare shirt that had seen better days and a light pair of trousers.

“I’m amazed you knocked this time,” Cullen quipped, opening the door fully and allowing Oji to step inside. He closed the door behind her as she surveyed his office in a quick sweep. Her eyes rested on the ladder to his loft and the idea of the commander’s cozy bed almost derailed her thoughts.

“Commander - “

“Cullen.”

“ _Cullen_ ,” she stressed. “I’m . . . “

“Sleepy?”

“ _Sorry_ ,” she said, shaking her head. She leveled him with a serious stare. “I must have been delirious after so many nights without sleeping that obviously I thought this had been a great arrangement. I’m sorry.”

She leaned back to rest against his desk and shrugged. “I can’t have the commander of my army running out of the room every time I enter it. I’ll figure it out with Leliana, maybe, get a drowsy concoction or something to help me sleep through the night.”

She shrugged again, feeling insignificant and stupid all at once. A strange feeling lodged in her chest and she grew annoyed at the situation. They were adults, this should be awkward, yes, but professional, and later on they should be laughing about this at a game of Wicked Grace. She should have laid out a more eloquent speech, maybe.

And there was the small piece of her that had set her apart in the bandit camp, the shocking grasp of the extrovert’s problem. She hated that he left the room when she entered it. By Andraste, she just wanted him to _like_ her again.

He sighed. “I’m not going to run from you,” he said. He paced around the room, hand on his hip, until he stopped in front of her. “Sleep with me.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

“No, wait - no,” Cullen stammered, turning a familiar red. “That’s not what I meant. I mean - I mean, sleep in my bed.”

“What?”

“I’ll take a bedroll with the soldiers,” he explained. “We can’t have our Inquisitor bleary-eyed with a muddled mind just because she can’t sleep.”

Oji blinked a few times. “I can’t kick you out of your own quarters, Cullen. You said yourself that everything is too noisy down there for you.”

“Well, Oji, I’m not letting you go another sleepless night,” he countered. “Unless you want to switch rooms, that is.”

Cullen and Oji shared a laugh then - Josephine would throw a fit if the Commander attempted to move into the Inquisitor’s chambers. The room was meant more as a show of status rather than a functional living space. It was connected directly to the throne room and Josephine’s office, lending the ambassador access to Oji at almost all times. If Cullen moved in, it would probably cause the woman such stress her hair might fall out.

“We could always - “ Oji started, then immediately stopped herself.

Back in the bandit camp, when the winters were cold and the blankets were scarce, it was two to a bedroll. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was a necessity.

“Open to any and all suggestions,” muttered Cullen. “What were you about to say?”

Oji looked Cullen in the eye. “Sleep with me.”


	3. Dusk

“This isn’t weird, right?”

Cullen and Oji were lying side by side in his bed, a pillow stuffed between them. They had blown out the last candle and climbed the ladder, then awkwardly slipped under the covers. “I honestly think we’ve been through weirder things, Curls,” Oji replied with a sigh.

They were quiet for a long time in the darkness as Oji listened to the murmurings of their camp nearby. By the time they had cautiously gathered into his bed, the last few patrons of the tavern were leaving, raucously singing and laughing. But afterwards and otherwise, her people were mostly quiet.

“Are you asleep?” Oji asked Cullen.

He inhaled and exhaled slowly. “No,” he replied. A shorter pause followed. “So what’s it _really_ like being the Herald of Andraste?”

Oji snickered, hearing the smile in his voice. She let the question roll around in her head for a minute.

“Exhausting,” she said carefully. She thought for another moment.

“Exhilarating,” she continued. “I believe in the Lady of Restitution, but I was just another bandit roaming Thedas with someone else’s gold burning in my pocket. I’m not a Herald. And yet - here I am, spat out of the Fade, leading a people who I would now die for - and would die for me.” She surprised herself with the stark honesty of her words and swallowed, feeling tears stinging the backs of her eyes. “There’s this great responsibility I have now, something much larger and more important than myself and half the time I don’t know what I’m doing.”

It was all true, pouring out of her like well water from a bucket. She swallowed again, attempting to get past the block in her throat. “I’m afraid,” she admitted. “I’m terrified of what will happen - what _won’t_ happen.” The tears that burned at the backs of her eyes slid out onto her cheeks and she was grateful Cullen couldn’t see her. She steeled her voice.

“But then - sometimes you have to jump into the lake with both feet, even if you don’t know how deep the water is.”

She heard him grunt a small noise of approval. “Well we’re in the deep end, alright.”  
  
“How about you then, Commander Rutherford?” she asked as a half-joke, quickly switching the target of conversation. She dabbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. “What’s the word on being a former Templar in a sea of chaos?”

He was quiet for a long while. Oji couldn’t tell if she had offended him or not, the thick darkness pressing upon them. She could only hear him breathing and feel the vibrations of his exhales through the bed. It seemed he was thinking hard.

“It’s not the Order, for that I am grateful,” he said softly. “No more Circles, no more lyrium. There’s something _missing_ from my days as a Templar, but. . .  nothing _bad_. It’s as if a stone was lifted from my chest.” He sighed. “I laughed at Varric’s joke the other day for twenty minutes and it wasn’t even that _funny_.”

She could hear the smile in his voice again and found herself grinning.

“And I’m scared too,” he continued. “But it’s good to be here. I don’t think I could be anywhere else. It feels like. . .    a home.”

They lay in the dark, side by side, adrift in their own separate thoughts.

Oji had never heard Cullen talk about these things before and she could feel herself relaxing after getting her own qualms off her chest.

She admitted, when she first met Cullen, she wrote him off as another idiot Templar, one of those who trusts too easily in authority. He was too rigid, too stuffy. But then slowly he had proved her wrong, showing himself to be both a capable commander and a man with a healthy sense of skepticism and a dash of humor. He was also surprisingly intelligent and eloquent, to boot.

But they were professionals, colleagues - not friends who usually spoke their minds and hearts in closed conversation. Or at least, that was before they were lying in the same bed in the middle of the night, two frightened, fascinated souls in the midst of a war neither of them imagined could happen.

In a quick decision, Oji moved the pillow from between them, tossing it on the floor. With the barrier removed, their arms naturally moved to touch and she could feel the heat radiating off of Cullen. Carefully, cautiously, she slipped her hand into his, her cold hand warming in his hot one.

He squeezed her hand in reassurance that she was not alone.

She squeezed back.

. . .

And so it went for weeks.

The first few nights were strange. Oji would visit just before midnight when most had already turned in, with her hood up and dark fur cloak swirling. She knocked twice, paused, then twice more before Cullen could open the door for her.

_Knock, knock - pause - knock, knock._

In the beginning of this compromise, after they would crawl into bed, Cullen insisted on sleeping as far away from Oji as possible, practically hanging off the edge. Meanwhile, the Inquisitor spread out in her sleep, unconsciously creeping closer and closer to the Commander. The pillow that had acted as a barrier had been abandoned that first night and never retrieved.

“Cullen,” Oji muttered into her furs on the fifth night, addressing the Commander who was busy occupying only a sliver of the bed.

“Yes?”

“Come here, please,” she asked quietly. He gazed at her, her eyes still closed but brow furrowed slightly. After a moment of hesitation, he did as she commanded, scooting closer. She hooked an arm around his waist, her palm roughened from the battlefield and forearm scattered with white, old scars sliding across his torso. He jumped slightly; she was cold.

But then, as natural as the wind and the sun, he wrapped his own arms around her, his chin resting on top of her head. Oji gave a deep sigh, pressing her cheek against the homespun shirt he wore. The commander smelled like heady sweat and smoke, strong but not unwelcome.

“Oji?” he whispered into her dark hair. She grumbled into his shirt, already half-asleep again. Unconsciously, he smiled into the darkness. “Nevermind.”

The following months, they fell into a routine.

_Knock, knock - pause - knock, knock._

To be honest, there had been a hole in the sky and a mortal man was rampaginging across Thedas in a bloody, devastating search for godhood, so sleeping in the same bed as the Commander was low on Oji’s list of abnormal things to resolve.

_Knock, knock - pause - knock, knock._

Some nights, before falling asleep, they talked to one another in the dark. Their hushed conversations ranged from the mundane to the fantastical, from everyday complaints of getting their boots wet to exploring the depths of their faith to the Maker. The Commander was unyielding in his belief; the Inquisitor less so. They argued points of scripture, but always came back to their shared trust in something bigger than themselves.

They traded stories of past adventure too, when Oji was swept into the lifestyle of the bandit camp and Cullen was a fresh pup to the Order. They told each other of their childhoods, of happy times with their families and then later on the less-happy times separated from them. They whispered hopes and dreams of things they promised to do once this war was over, sharing secrets within the comfort of darkness surrounding them.

_Knock, knock - pause - knock, knock._

Then, there came the nights where they slept in conjunction, slipping into a pattern of tangled limbs and mussed hair.

Cullen noticed Oji slept deeply, knocking out and not rousing until dawn. But yet no matter how he moved, she would unconsciously follow, adjusting and re-adjusting in her slumber until she was comfortable - and that usually meant splayed against Cullen as much as possible. He didn’t mind; she ran more than a few degrees cooler than he and he welcomed the cold.

On the fourteenth night, he finally identified her scent - a mix of sword oil and lavender. It reminded him of camping out in the field after battle, surrounded by the stars and sitting close to the fire. Sometimes, when she was in her fullest slumber, he would press his lips to her head and breathe her in.

_Knock, knock - pause - knock, knock._

There were the nights when Cullen would fall victim to his nightmares.

One night, he tossed and turned in the bed, forcefully pushing Oji enough that she awoke with a startled yelp. Cullen muttered and mumbled in his slumber, grimacing. “Cullen?” she said, blinking the sleep from her eyes and pushing herself upright. The two moons were out tonight and Oji watched in the pale light as Cullen twitched uncontrollably, a cold sweat appeared on his brow and through his shirt. She lightly touched his shoulder, then grasped it.

He jerked awake, sitting up and glaring around wildly. “Cullen?” she questioned again, steadying him. “Cullen, it’s alright.”

He blinked, focusing on her face. “I - I’m sorry,” he stammered, touching her hand on his shoulder. “I. . . I’m not feeling well. I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” she said gently, interrupting his apologies. “It’s alright, Cullen. How long have you been having nightmares?”

“They’re more infrequent now,” he explained quietly. “Perhaps once every other month. It’s… nothing.”

Oji raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think it’s nothing if it’s keeping you up,” she said, removing her hand from his shoulder. He caught it in his own before she could place it back into her lap. His fingers were warm against her skin. 

“I haven’t had one in a long time,” he sighed. “I thought maybe they were over.” He gazed at her, almost pleadingly. “It really is nothing, Oji. Please don’t worry about it.”

She frowned. “I’m already worried,” she responded, holding his stare. They sat in silence for a minute or two, studying one another’s face.

“Don’t go,” he said, almost inaudible. His gaze dropped to their entwined hands. “Please.”

His words broke her heart and filled it at the same time.

“I won’t.”

She squeezed his hand to reassure him.

He squeezed back.

_Knock, knock - pause - knock, knock._

To be honest, he expected the Inquisitor sleeping in his bed to be a much more uncomfortable experience. But as Cullen returned to his chambers after dinner one night, he found himself disappointed she was not already there.

 _Knock, knock - pause - knock, knock_.

Then, there were the nights when they couldn’t sleep.

They lay entangled beneath his sheets, awake but silent. Both would deny instigating it in the morning, but for now, neither stopped - their hands would move of their own accord, tentatively exploring. His fingers found her scars, collected over a long, harsh outlaw life. Some were small on her arms and stomach, created from a light dagger strike or other short blade. Others on her back were strange burns, from when she was imprisoned and branded as a bandit.

But the one above her left collarbone was a jagged piece of work: no doubt a broadsword piercing right through her shoulder. He paused over each and every scar, but kept the pads of his fingertips lingering over this one, as if he was a mage dispelling the ache of this long-past injury.

Her own light fingers found the roughened skin of his chest and stomach and shoulders and arms - the man had led an equally grueling life, his body and mind ravaged by lyrium abuse and intense Templar training. He had fewer scars than she, but the ones he did have were long and uneven - swords? Others were shaped like lightning - spells? And still other scars were patterns, linework made by a steady purpose. She never asked what those were for, never broke their sacred silence to satiate her curiosity.

His hands eventually found her face and he traced her eyelids, her brow, her lips. It was seeing Oji as she was, not how she appeared; without seeing, he could see everything. There was old pain in her heart, just like his. But there was strength there too, just like his.

She pressed her soft lips against his palm and in the darkness he understood.


	4. Dawn

The tavern was full, but quiet.

A crowd of people huddled against one table in near silence, watching a very intense game of Wicked Grace play out amongst Bull’s Chargers. A few mutterings of bets could be heard from the patrons and it was down to Krem and Stitches, two equal card masters. Krem placed a few more gold in the center of their table; Stitches matched the gold with a flick of his hand.

Oji moved at the edge of the mass tonight, winding her way to Bull standing behind the bar. “Somehow it’s always between those two at the end of a game,” she said after he slid her a pint. She took a sip of the ale, feeling the alcohol settle in her stomach and warm her. It was chilled tonight in Skyhold and in the back of her mind, Oji hoped that Cullen had kept his chambers cozy.

“It’s because they’re the best cheaters,” Bull explained with a snort. “And _now_ it looks like they’ve enlisted some help.” He nodded to the loft and Oji’s gaze followed. Sera and Cole stood in the upper part of the tavern, both looking down at the Chargers’ respective cards. Cole touched his hat and Krem, watching from the corners of his eyes, threw down another gold piece. Sera cleared her throat and Stitches matched the bet again.

Oji shook her head with a laugh. “Of course,” she muttered, taking another drink of her beer.

Bull poured himself a brew and took his own sip. “It looks like you’ve been sleeping well again,” he said slyly.

She narrowed her eyes in response. “Never thought you’d be so concerned with my sleeping patterns, Bull.”

“Just wondering - is the Commander _that_ good in bed that you knock out right after?”

Oji choked on her pint, sputtering the alcohol onto the bar. A few patrons snapped their heads to look at the noise, but quickly returned to watch the rest of the card match.

 _“What did you just say?”_ Oji whispered harshly, her face flushing a bright pink.

“You and the Commander,” Bull said nonchalantly. “The sneaking around at night, the early morning leaving, the little glances you throw each other in passing. . . not to mention you look much better now after a few months of ‘ _actual sleep’_."

The Inquisitor stared at the Qunari, mouth agape. _He knew_.

“We aren’t . . . _lovers_ ,” she said, glancing around. “Keep your voice down!”

Bull chuckled. “So I guess you two are just discussing war strategy every night from midnight to dawn,” he replied, locking eyes with her. “For _four months.”_

Oji guffawed, but - she couldn’t think of anything to respond with.

He shrugged. “I’m not judging you, boss, I was just asking a question.”

Oji was suddenly too warm and she sunk lower in her stool. “We aren’t having _sex_ ,” she explained to him in a quiet voice, nervously checking to see if anyone’s attention had turned away from the game. “It’s. . . not like that.”

“Not having sex but visiting every night - it’s not like that, but it’s _more_ than that,” Bull concluded, tapping his chin thoughtfully. He made no effort to lower his voice, letting his booming baritone fill the tavern. Oji desperately wished she could smoke bomb her way out of this.  
  
“ _Bull, I swear to Andraste_ ,” she said, heated. She shrugged off her fur cloak, letting it dangle on a nearby chair. The door to the tavern opened and closed, sending a welcome gust of chilled air into the bar. “We aren’t _together,_  alright? It’s just - “

She couldn’t quite find the words to define her relationship with the Commander.

“You’re friends?” Bull suggested.

“It’s complicated,” she said instead. She slumped in her chair, arms crossed on the bar. “ _I don’t know.”_

“I think you do,” the Qunari responded. “If it isn’t _just_ friendship, but you’re _not_ lovers, then what are you?”

Oji stared at him, her heart beating faster. “Bull,” she warned, her voice shaking. “ _It’s complicated_.”

“I bet!” he responded. Bull raised his other eyebrow, smirk firmly planted on his face. “Here comes your man now,” he said and Oji heard the stool beside her scrape against the floor as the Commander sat down.

“Nice fur - who’ve you bet on?” Cullen asked the Inquisitor, gesturing to the card game nearby. “I put five bits on Cole and Krem; Sera’s coughing fit is going to get them caught.”

Oji couldn’t even look in the commander’s direction, her cheeks still burning. She stared directly at the beer in front of her and then downed half of it in a gulp.

Bull pulled one more beer from the cask behind the bar and put it in front of Cullen, before winking at her and heading to sit on his favorite stool. “I - um,” she stammered. Sighing, she muttered, “Stitches.”

“What, why?” Cullen said with a bit of a snort. “I don’t think Krem’s ever been defeated.”

“I don’t know!” she snapped, looking at him for the first time since he walked in.

His face was different in the light; she could see the furrow of his brow, his sharp jawline, the amber of his eyes. He was looking at her with concern painted on his face. “Oji,” he said quietly, slowly. “Are you alright?”

Oji stood swiftly, wobbling a bit. The alcohol hit her harder than she thought. The tavern suddenly was too small, too hot - she couldn’t stay here any longer, not with _Cullen_ there with _Bull_ watching.

“I have to go,” she said weakly, heading to the door. The tavern erupted in cheers as Krem threw down his winning hand and Cullen watched Oji exit, teetering between leaving her alone or following. There was something in her voice, something strained and _wrong_.

“Better get after her,” Bull called to him from his stool, holding his tankard aloft in a toast.

. . .

Cullen couldn’t find Oji anywhere.

He searched his quarters, hoping she ran to their shared space, but she wasn’t bundled in his sheets. He checked the battlements, but she was not there - the training grounds, the kitchens, the throne room: all were empty of the Inquisitor.

He huffed, marching through the rookery - Oji wasn’t hiding here, either.

“Have you checked her own chambers for a change?” Dorian said from his usual spot in the library, not bothering to look up from the book splayed in his hand.

Cullen’s heart skipped. He doubled back to the seated Tevinter, stomping up to the mage. _“‘For a change?’”_ he repeated incredulously.

“Yes, her _own_ chambers,” said Dorian, glancing up from his tome. “She can’t _always_ be in yours.”

The Commander blinked a few times while he registered Dorian’s words. “You _know_ ?” Cullen said, indignantly. “You _know!_ ”

“We _all_ do,” the mage said with a laugh. “You two aren’t terribly good at hiding it.”

“We’re not _lovers,_  if that’s what you’re thinking,” Cullen hastily explained.

“Oh of _course_ you’re not,” Dorian said, his words coated in sarcasm. “I too personally enjoy sharing my bed with friends I _don’t_ have sex with.”

Cullen’s mouth folded into a tight, straight line. “We’re not having sex,” he said, louder this time. “It’s . . . none of your business. She’s different. We’re not _like that._ ”

Dorian’s well-manicured eyebrows shot up at his statement and then he laughed once more. “Commander, you really should invest in a mirror - you’d see that even _you_ can’t believe that lie.”

The mage closed his book and slipped it back onto the shelf nearby. “So if you’re not having sex but you’re sleeping in the same bed, then what _are_ you doing? This isn’t some tacky, primitive Ferelden ritual is it? Acting like pups in a basket?”

Cullen grew red from the embarrassment of their secret so openly spread out for the Tevinter to comment on. “You don’t know anything,” he seethed.

“You don’t either, apparently,” Dorian quipped, pulling another book from the shelf and flipping through some pages. He paused with his finger on a sentence, then gazed up at the Commander with a rare, serious look. “I would ask yourself if you love her, Cullen, because if you don’t… well, we wouldn’t want to find out if you don’t, do we?”

Cullen couldn’t tell if it was a threat or a warning or both, but he forced his legs to move, to find Oji.

He hurried away from the Tevinter, rushing through the rookery and library and back into the throne room, more frustrated than when he started. He noticed the door to Oji’s chambers near the throne and he made for it.

But he couldn’t shake Dorian’s words from his mind. He paused at the door, heart beating uncomfortably in his chest. His hands were slick on the doorknob.  

 _Ask yourself if you love her, Cullen_.

. . .

Winter was in full swing and in the mountains, it was even colder.

Oji watched the camp from atop her lonely tower, breathing in the frigid air. She wrapped herself in her familiar furs, attempting to calm the maelstrom of thoughts swirling in her mind. Bull’s words sent a shock through her and she felt as if she was staring down a rabbit hole.

If they weren’t lovers, but more than friends, then what _did_ that make them?

Oji shook her head, hoping she would regain some clarity. She didn’t. She was just as muddled as before.

She leaned against the railing, taking a few deep breaths. What did the Commander mean to her?

He was not ‘just a friend.’ He had seen all of her, seen the inside of her heart and her mind, and did not run for the Hinterlands immediately after. He had kept her steady in the chaos, comforted her in defeats and losses, held her aloft when she felt like she was drowning.

If she lost him in battle, it would be a loss so devastating she was unsure if she could pull herself back from the edge. If she had to give her life for his, she would with no hesitation.

But did she _love_ him?

 _Knock, knock - pause - knock, knock_.

The knock echoed in her lofty chambers.

After a moment, the door popped open and Cullen stuck his head through.

“Oji,” he said, relieved, stepping all the way into the room. He quietly closed the door behind him and approached her cautiously, as if cornering a wounded animal. She allowed him to cross onto the balcony, but didn’t move or answer. He matched her stance, leaning on the railing and gazing at the camp below.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he said, less a command and more of a plea. She shrugged, unsure.

“I don’t know if I want to talk about it,” she responded carefully. “I don’t know if I _can_ talk about it.”

_How would I talk to Cullen about Cullen?_

He didn’t press the issue and let them fall into a comfortable silence. The evening had taken a lot out of her, the adrenaline from having her secret turned out to the prying eyes of the Inquisition forces left her feeling exhausted. Oji sighed, then yawned.

“Your bed or mine?” he joked, nudging her elbow. The smallest of smiles snuck onto her face and he grinned at her.

“Come on,” he said, grasping her hand and pulling her into an embrace. She closed her eyes, pressed further against the Templar armor.

And she knew that she would not want to be anywhere else.

“Let’s go to sleep,” he said into her hair.

. . .

They didn’t go to sleep.

This time, they crawled into Oji’s bed in her cold Inquisitor’s chambers and kept each other warm.

This time, when she entangled herself with him, it was like mixing smoke and lavender, heady sweat and traces of sword oil. And when she pulled him close, her hands found the familiar scars underneath his shirt.

He could feel her breath on his neck, her fingers on his skin.

His own hands fell into their natural place on her body - the side of her cheek, the small of her back.

“Cullen,” she whispered, his name like a lyric in her mouth. She was staring at him, her face unreadable.

_If it isn’t just friendship, but you’re not lovers, then what are you?_

She pressed her lips against his, hesitant and tentative. The kiss was chaste, nervous, and when she moved away she looked almost apologetic.

_Ask yourself if you love her._

But then his mouth took hers.

He claimed her, their bodies twisting beneath the sheets. The pair worked together to dismantle the last of their barriers, tossing flimsy shirts and furs to the floor.

And she - _Maker -_ she was so... _soft_ . He could feel the hard muscles beneath, the strength of her body roiling under him and she was by no means _weak_ , but - she was so _soft_ and _careful_ and _tender_ . He felt her fingers exploring his body, like she had done hundreds of times before. But she explored slowly this time, his hair, his neck, slipping underneath the drawstring of his trousers - touching and touching and _touching_. His breath hitched again and he unconsciously growled against her mouth, a guttural groan from low in his chest.

And him - _by Andraste_ \- him! How she wanted to drink him in every night, wanted to fall asleep with her body layered with his, wanted to awaken to his face in the early morning light. Smoke and heady sweat, she breathed him in and gasped into him as his hands found the small of her back, creeping and creeping lower. He set her skin afire, as if his palms left burning trails down her spine.

They broke, shattered, splintered.

Then they rebuilt, slowly, piecing each other together until dawn.

. . .

On the surface, not much changed.

Oji was still the Inquisitor and Cullen was still her Commander. They went on missions and expeditions, brokered treaties with dignitaries and barbarians alike, and made strategic moves to stop Corypheus’ impending war.

During the day, they gave everything to their roles and in turn, gave the people what was needed: real leadership, an Inquisition built on a foundation of unity and propelled with collective hope. Flocks of refugees continued to arrive, and with them willing and able hands. Everyday their Inquisition grew stronger.

But when the sun began to set and the evening overtook the fortress, Oji and Cullen would retreat to their own world. In their shared, tangled sheets, there was no Commander, no Inquisitor - no war, no fear - no Venatori, no demons.

There was only Cullen and Oji - only smoke and lavender.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! Thank you all for your kind comments & kudos & views & love <3

**Author's Note:**

> some Cullen/Inquisitor fluff :) - originally written for a friend & decided to publish here after some editing!


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